by Lexi Ryan
“It’s actually more valuable than your grandmother’s,” she says. “I know you dreamed of wearing that old necklace on your wedding day, so I wanted to make sure you had something even better.”
The idea that this necklace could be “better” because of its appraised value rather than its sentimental value says a lot about my mom, but I force a smile and let her fasten it around my neck.
“Beautiful,” she says. “Oops! I can’t believe I almost forgot.” She fishes an envelope from her purse. “Your vows,” she says as she hands it to me.
“My vows?”
“Your friend Keegan brought them to the church last night,” she says. “I’d forgotten about him. I didn’t realize you two were still in touch. It was nice of him to look over them for you, though I admit I’m a little jealous that you didn’t ask me.”
I turn to her but can’t find the words to ask all the questions that are suddenly filling my chest and throat and threatening to flood out onto the cold tile floor at my feet.
Becky looks at me and then my mom. “Are you sure it was Keegan? Keegan Keller?” she asks, as if we know some other Keegan.
“Well, sure.” Mom looks at me. “I remember that summer you used to run around with him. I’m sure he’d have given them to you himself, but he said you and Zachary were busy.”
I open my mouth to reply, but I’m too afraid of what I might say. Keegan was here? With my vows. I snap my mouth shut again and turn to Becky.
She pats my back and turns to the other ladies in the room. “Could we have a minute? To finalize the vows?”
My mom gives her a stern, disapproving glare before she and the other bridesmaids leave the room.
“What’s going on?” Becky asks when we’re alone. “You’ve been acting funny all week, and today…” She bites her lip. I know this is Becky trying very hard not to say, “I told you marrying my brother was a bad idea.”
I’m so grateful to have her here with me in this moment that the tears in my eyes spill over, not out of self-pity but out of gratitude. “He came. I can’t believe he came.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
I hold the blank, sealed envelope in two hands as if it weighs a hundred pounds instead of an ounce. “I slept with him,” I whisper.
“I know, but—” Her jaw drops. “Wait. When are we talking about here? And how? And do you mean like dreaming sleeping together or the kind of sleeping together that doesn’t involve much sleep?”
“In Vegas. We’d been drinking and…honestly, I don’t even remember much. But there was definitely not much sleeping involved. It was stupid. I know it was stupid. I just—”
“It was not.” She balls her hands into fists and spins in a little frustrated circle as she stamps her feet. The reaction might be funny if I weren’t in the middle of a legit personal crisis.
Keegan came here. To the church. Where I’m getting married in two hours.
“It’s not stupid. It’s possibly the only thing you’ve done for yourself in five years.”
“I shouldn’t have let it happen, but first it was dinner, and then that sexy show, and then the dancing, and that seemed harmless, and then touching and then…more. I mean, he was bound to find out, right? I thought I’d have a chance to explain everything before I left him. Then your brother showed up because he was worried about me being in Vegas alone. The front desk called up to the room to tell me my fiancé was there, and Keegan answered.” More tears roll from my eyes as I remember the look on Keegan’s face. “He was so angry when he left. I can’t believe he came here last night.” I lift the envelope. “With this?”
“Okay. That’s a lot of information.” She draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Will you please open it already?” When I just stare at her, she says, “Come on, we both know that’s not your vows. Open. It.”
With shaking hands, I tear the seal and pull the paper from the envelope. It’s worn thin and almost ripped along its folds.
“I’m dying here,” Becky says. “What does it say?”
I unfold it as delicately as I can. After hours of staying calm and keeping it together, it’s the sight of the letter I wrote to Keegan five years ago that brings more tears to my eyes and makes my heart ache so much I feel like it might burst.
“It’s the letter I wrote him when we broke up.” I wrote this letter on the way to the airport on my mother’s wedding day. While we were stuck in traffic, I reread it so many times it feels like I wrote it yesterday and not five years ago. Keegan gave me back my letter, but not before writing on it himself.
I press my hand to my chest. I’m pretty sure my heart is breaking in there, but maybe this ache is the painful work of a broken heart mending itself.
Becky stands behind me, and she must be reading the note, because she mutters a curse. She squeezes my shoulder, and I turn to face her. “Emma, I need to know what I’m supposed to be doing here. I need to know if you need me to tell you everything is going to be okay. Do you want me to tell you this crazy marriage is the right decision, or am I allowed to tell you what I really think?”
“I already know what you really think.” I sniffle and grab a tissue from the vanity. “You’re smarter than me for seeing it so clearly.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not smarter than you. Em, I just have perspective because I’m not the one locked into your life. I can see it. You’re too close.”
“I want to have babies,” I tell her. Her face crumples and she wraps me in her arms. “I don’t want to spend my life alone, and Zachary is my best friend. He needed me, and I needed him.”
“Are you kidding me? Isn’t this the twenty-first century? You can both have what you want without compromising your life like this.”
“I’m not kidding, and you know it’s true. If his constituency knew about him and Charlie… If he tried to run for president with a man on his arm instead of a woman…” I shake my head. “Don’t be naïve. You know this country isn’t ready for that yet.”
She wipes a tear from my cheek. “So you’re both supposed to spend the rest of your lives pretending you’re someone you’re not?”
“You make it sound so awful. Your brother is my best friend.”
She gently wipes away my tears with the back of her hand. “It was different when this was what you wanted, but you’ve spent the entire week looking like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming big rig. Don’t do it.”
“You just want me to walk away and pretend I wasn’t supposed to get married today? Sorry, Mom. Your flaky daughter is at it again.”
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I think that if there’s any part of you that wants to walk away then you shouldn’t just walk, you should run.” She picks her purse up off the floor. “He came last night. That means something.”
My breath catches as I realize what I’m really about to do. I spin around the room, looking for my clothes before remembering that Mom already sent them to the hotel where Zach and I are supposed to spend our wedding night. “I don’t have any clothes.”
She fishes her keys from her purse, tucks them into my hand, and closes her palm around them. “Go as you are. Out the back. I’ll buy you some time.” She smiles. “You get a head start.”
“What about you?” I squeeze her keys so hard they bite into my palm. “How will you get around?”
She grins. “I’ll have to use my husband’s precious Benz. It needs to get a little fresh air anyway. He keeps it cooped up like a princess in a castle.”
I almost laugh, but my breath catches before the sound can fully form. “What about Zachary?”
“Like you said, he’s your best friend.” She turns up her palms. “I think he’s going to be proud of you.”
“When my mom finds out I’m gone, she’s going to raise hell.”
She grins. “I can handle it. Now get out of here and text me when you get there.”
“Get where?” I say with a hysterical burst of laughter.
“You’ll figur
e it out.”
I rush out the door with nothing but my purse, Becky’s keys, and my old letter to Keegan. He circled the last paragraph.
Please know this: As much as I want you for myself, I want more for you to be happy. Do that for me.
Next to it, he wrote, Ditto.
Chapter Twenty-One
Keegan
Thunder booms outside and the lights flicker. Crappy weather is bad for business, but tonight’s weather is such a perfect match for my mood that I don’t even mind. She’s getting married tonight. Hell, it’s after midnight. By now, it’s done and she’s in some fancy suite with her perfect groom. By now, he’s probably made her forget all about Vegas, all about me, all about the life we once planned to have together.
“A bride walks into a bar in a soaking-wet wedding dress,” Bailey says over her beer.
I look up at her from where I’m wiping down the bar and arch a brow, waiting for the punch line. Ever since I bought this bar last year, Bailey has been all over the bad “walked into a bar” jokes. I haven’t heard this one yet. I don’t bother to fake a smile. She knows today is shit for me. “And?”
“No, seriously.” She swivels on her stool and nods toward the door. “A bride just walked into your bar.”
I turn and my stomach falls through the floor. Because Bailey wasn’t joking, and there’s nothing funny about this.
I’ve spent my entire day forcing myself to stop imagining Emma Rothschild in a wedding dress, Emma walking down the aisle, Emma in another man’s arms. But more torturous than imagining her wedding were the fantasies of her not going through with it. I’ve been watching my phone as if she might use my number for the first time in five years. Every time it buzzed, I practically jumped out of my skin.
But there she is: in my bar, in her wedding dress, soaked to the bone from the storm raging outside.
Emma meets my eyes, and I’m yanked back to her suite in Vegas—to the feel of her skin under my hands, to the smell of her hair, and the sounds she made when she came, to the next morning’s cruel gut punch of finding out she was engaged.
“Emma?” My voice cracks on her name, like a pubescent boy who’s finally found the courage to speak the name of his crush. She makes me feel a little bit like that—always has. I see her and I’m filled with so much longing that it twists everything up inside me. It’s a wonder I can ever speak clearly when she’s close.
She glances over her shoulder at the door she just entered before turning back to me. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
I turn to Bailey. She nods at me, drains her beer, and comes behind the counter to mind my post without me saying what I need. “Get her out of here. I’ve got this.”
“Thank you.” I throw my rag down and retrieve my keys before motioning to Emma to follow me into the kitchen. In addition to a random reporter who may appear at any moment, there are a half-dozen sets of curious eyes pointed in her direction. They’re probably all too drunk to recognize her, but staying out here is asking for trouble.
When we’re tucked into the back corner of the kitchen, I turn to her and turn up my palms, waiting for an explanation.
She looks down at herself, as if just realizing she’s wearing a fucking wedding gown. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry him.”
Fuck. Those words rattle something deep inside me, and I swallow hard. At least I’m not hiding some rich, powerful man’s new wife. Only his runaway bride. I drag a hand through my hair then squeeze at the tension in the back of my neck. “Did anyone see you?”
“Other than the handful of people who watched me walk into your bar?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“We’re going to leave your car here. I can come back for it later,” I tell her. “If you wait here, I’ll run out and get your things.”
She looks up at me with those big blue eyes. “Things?”
“Luggage? Clothes? Stuff you brought from home?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have anything. I kind of left in a rush. This was unexpected.”
“No shit,” I mutter. “Fine. Let’s get out of here, then.” I lead her out to the back lot, welcoming the pounding rain on my hot skin and trying not to stare at the wedding dress, trying harder to tamp down the chaotic swarm of emotions in my chest—especially the sympathy and the longing, and the just fucking tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you. Under all that, anger simmers, and I hold on to that as she climbs into the front seat of my SUV.
I live less than ten minutes from the bar, but there’s so much tension twisting me in knots, the drive feels like it takes forty. I park in the drive, kill the engine, and squeeze my eyes shut. “Does he know where you are?”
“Who?”
I snap my head around and scrape my gaze over her wedding dress, ignoring the way she flinches under my scrutiny. “Your fiancé?”
She stares down at her hands. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
That’s the understatement of the century. I’m drowning in questions. I exhale heavily. There are the questions that need to be answered: Are you okay? Are you in trouble? How can I help? Then there are the questions I’m not sure I want her to answer: Why didn’t you marry him? What did last weekend mean to you? Why did you come to me?
“Let’s get you inside and into some dry clothes.” I swing my door open and head around to help her. Given other circumstances, this might be comical—the bride climbing from my Explorer in a waterlogged dress, her makeup smeared, her movements awkward. I offer her my hand, and she takes it. The feel of her shaking hand in mine makes something squeeze in my chest.
The house is empty. I wish it weren’t. I wish Olivia’s mom was here with Jazzy or that Sebastian and Alex were hanging out with their new baby. Fuck, I’d even take a visit from Olivia and Dre right now. I don’t trust myself with Emma and I’m suddenly questioning my judgment in bringing her here. Why was that my first instinct? She’s not mine to protect. She’s in her wedding dress, for God’s sake.
But she came to you.
I lead her to my bedroom and pull a pair of cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt from the drawer. “The bathroom’s in there. There are towels in the cabinet under the sink and some new toothbrushes in the cabinet.” She’s shaking when I hand over the clothes, her skin covered in goosebumps. “Take a shower, get warmed up, and put these on. You’ll feel better when you’re out of that dress.”
As I listen to the old pipes squeak as the shower turns on, I pace my kitchen. When my phone rings, Bailey’s name is on the display.
“Hey,” I say, hoping I can keep my voice calm.
“For a man who claims he doesn’t want any drama in his life, you sure know how to bring it.”
I blow out a breath, but it does nothing to release the tension in my shoulders. “No kidding.”
“You made good hustle, though. They’re talking about it on the late night shows, but no mention of Blackhawk Valley.” She makes a tsking sound, and in the background, I can hear the clanking of glasses and running water. I promised Bailey I’d close tonight, and now she’s stuck doing it. “You can’t run from such a high-profile wedding without creating buzz.”
I drag a hand over my face and realize I’m shaking. I grab a beer from the fridge and open it. “I’m sorry I had to bail on you.”
“Pfft. You had a damsel in distress to rescue. Don’t even worry about it.”
“I need to figure out what’s going on with Emma and make sure she’s okay.”
“Has it crossed your mind that maybe she ran from her wedding and came to you because she wants to be with you instead of him?”
What if running away is just her MO? “Something tells me it’s not that simple.”
“Give me a call tomorrow and let me know if you need me here more than we planned this week. I’ll help.”
As Mia’s maid of honor, she’s busier this week than I am, but I know the offer is sincere. “You’re the best, Bailey. Thank you.”
�
��Someday, you’ll pay me back. Don’t worry.”
We hang up, and I collapse into my recliner. I’m nursing my beer when Emma comes out of the bathroom. She has the pants rolled at the waist and they still sag around her hips under the big T-shirt. Her hair is down, hanging in wet curls past her shoulders, and her face is scrubbed clean of all her makeup.
“Thank you.” She sits on the couch and pulls her legs under her.
“Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
“I panicked.” She draws in a ragged breath. “I just couldn’t go through with it.”
“So, you’re pretty much saying that nothing’s changed.” When she snaps her gaze to mine, there’s so much hurt in her blue eyes that I want to take it back, but I can’t. “You’ve spent your whole life without a single person calling you on your bullshit. But guess what? You came to me, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you what you want to hear. What you did last weekend was shitty. What you did to your fiancé tonight, also shitty.”
“I know.” She wraps her arms around her stomach as if she’s trying to protect herself. From me. Fuck, that burns, but what do I expect when I’m acting like an asshole? “I’m not asking you to sugarcoat anything.”
Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on my knees and cradle my head in my hands.
“I know you probably hate me right now.” She’s quiet for a few beats—maybe she’s waiting for me to deny it. and I’m tempted to look up and see the expression on her face. The thing is, I know how I’ll feel when I see the hurt in her eyes. Emma has never been able to hide her emotions from me, and by being a hard ass now, I know I’m breaking her heart. But fuck that. She’s not the only one who’s struggling with this. “I didn’t expect you to take me in with open arms. I’m so sorry. I know what I did to you last weekend was unforgivable—”
